


Caught in Your Undertow

by itsavolcano



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, post 5x22, tw: grief
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 10:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14714136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsavolcano/pseuds/itsavolcano
Summary: 5/20/2018:UndertowA model of English stoicism, she does her best impression of the heroines of Victorian literature, young wives turned into widows by war.This is where I'll keep all of my "working through 5x22 during hiatus" ficlets.





	Caught in Your Undertow

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd and rough, but then again so am I.

_I must follow_  
_These movements wherever they go_  
_I’m caught in your undertow_  
_(“Undertow”; Ane Brun)_

She doesn’t grieve in front of the team. Instead, she keeps her posture straight and her cheeks dry. A model of English stoicism, she does her best impression of the heroines of Victorian literature, young wives turned into widows by war.

She glides through the levels of the spaceship her husband built, the spaceship that will bring him home. She refuses to let anyone see her break apart. If they see her cry, they’ll think she’s lost hope when nothing could be further from the truth. Hope is all that is holding her together.

She saves her grief for the moments when she is alone. She retreats to their bunk and screams into her pillow until her throat is dry. Then she turns on her side and curls around it—a bookmark, saving his place.

She sobs uncontrollably in the shower, knees cracking against the tile floor. She doesn’t know what causes this particular attack but she’s learning that’s the nature of grief, it comes out of nowhere and knocks the floor out. She stays in the shower until the water turns cold and then she stays a bit longer.

She doesn’t grieve in front of the team until she is holding him once again, and then it seems she is unable to stop. She can feel his confusion turn to panic, can feel her lungs burn as she struggles to take in oxygen. He places his hands on her face to calm her but it only makes her cry harder. She drops to the floor and he follows, arms around her, pulling her close as she grips his white t-shirt. He shifts to look over her head at Daisy and Mack, no doubt searching for some clue as to what has caused this complete and utter breakdown. She hears them leave, Mack saying something about giving them a few minutes alone.

“Jemma?” His voice at her ear, his heartbeat under her hands, are a welcomed balm. It soothes and she feels the waves of grief recede. She turns her face into his neck and breathes him in. He smells of stale, recycled air and metal, but under that is a scent decidedly Fitz, decidedly her hus—

“Ask me.” She pulls back and meets his eye for the first time since he stumbled out of the chamber. He frowns, searching, confused.

“What?”

“The question you’ve been thinking about, the one you aren’t sure we’re ready for? Well, we are.” He exhales, understanding. “And my answer is yes. It will always be yes. Every time.”

“I had a whole thing planned. I had a speech—well, part of a speech. It needed some work.” He bristles, but only half-heartedly. “And now you just swept in and—”

“So tell me your speech.”

“I told you, it isn’t ready yet.” His hands are in her hair, at the base of her neck, running soothing circles and she feels a tremble race down her spine. She had lost this and now she has it back and—

“It doesn’t need to be perfect, Fitz.” She presses her lips to his throat, her arms around his waist. “Just—”

She stops when he leans back and she can’t help but stare, unwilling to take anything about him for granted.

“Jemma, I—” He grows serious, a crease forming between his brows. “Marry me?”

She swallows the strange mixture of a laugh and a sob that fills her chest.

“Absolutely.”

Then, without preamble, he kisses her.


End file.
